


Beautiful Through and Through

by IdunAurora



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Billionaire Viktor, Day 2, Drag Queen Yuuri, Jazz vocalist Yuuri, M/M, Rich Viktor, Victuuriweek2018, celebrity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:09:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdunAurora/pseuds/IdunAurora
Summary: The day was much too warm and Viktor’s pants were much too tight to handle Yuuri Katsuki on an obvious mission to make him snap."Enjoying the view, mister?"Or, the universe where Yuuri, a hot stuff jazz vocalist and drag queen extraordinaire sets his eyes on young billionaire Viktor Nikiforov, who might just be his key to get off the stage and escape his crippling stage fright. Viktor isn't complaining.VictuuriWeek2018 day 2: Celebrity





	Beautiful Through and Through

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer! I don't own YOI, sure, and I don't own the lyrics to the songs! They're Bob Merill's lyrics from the musical Sugar.

If you happen to be a famous jazz vocalist and drag queen, you typically have a small army of men swooning at your feet and a confidence the size of Lake Superior.

Unless, of course, you happen to be a famous jazz vocalist and drag queen by the name of Yuuri Katsuki. In that case, you still have a nerve-racking amount of men swooning at your feet, but your confidence is in the reds and anxiety cripples your very existence every time you have to enter the spotlight.

In other words, being Yuuri Katsuki was like being a banker on Wall Street watching the prices on the stock market plummet faster than a piano from the top of a building – knowing that dying would be a better option than going to work the following day.

Still, just like the very unhappy stockbroker, a very unhappy Yuuri Katsuki headed to work anyway instead of just stepping to stand right beneath the plummeting piano and end his days short. And _work_ in the case of Yuuri Katsuki meant dressing up in drag and stepping onto the stage to sing and entice an audience with Madam Lilia’s Society Syncopators.

Yuuri honestly couldn’t fathom why Madam Lilia kept him around, when his nerves trembled worse than a leaf in the wind and his heart was made of the most fragile glass, but he would still loath to disappoint her and didn’t ask about it.

He was just terribly disappointed with himself.

With a heavy sigh, he laid back down onto the covers of the could-have-been-more-comfortable bed in his compartment, rocking slowly back and forth with the motions of the train steadily making its way south. He was currently alone as his traveling companion, roommate and best friend, jazz trumpeter Phichit Chulanont, had headed over to another compartment to practice with the other brass instruments. While Yuuri did love Phichit dearly, he was content with a moment of peace and quiet.

Madam Lilia’s Society Syncopators had ten members, plus Madam Lilia herself and their manager, a grumpy old man called Mr. Feltsman, and Yuuri was the only one who didn’t play an instrument. Or, at least, not one he needed to carry around in a case. He had relied on his voice to help him along financially for the past ten years instead.

Well, that and his curves, which apparently made him look good in dresses. If one were to believe the media.

Yuuri’s thoughts were then interrupted by the arrival of his best friend, who entered the compartment with a wide grin on his face and looking much like the ray of sunshine he was twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

“I know that face.” Was the first thing Phichit said as he placed his instrument case down, wagging a finger at Yuuri. “You’re thinking too much. Loosen up and smile a little, Katsuki,” he poked Yuuri’s nose, grin widening, “we’re going to Miami!”

A smile did tug at the corner of Yuuri’s mouth at that, not so much because of Miami as of his friend’s unrestrained excitement.

“Yeah, Miami.” He sighed, studying the redwood ceiling above him. “More rich, old men looking for company the same age as their grandchildren to hang by their arm. Or to hang onto, I suppose, since they probably can’t manage standing on their own two legs any longer.”

Phichit snorted a laugh, “Isn’t it flattering, having them crawling on their knees every time?” he asked, although it wasn’t actually a question as he already knew the answer. Yuuri made a face anyway for good measure. “But there _are_ going to be billionaires at the Miami-Biltmore, you know. Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

Yuuri gave him a flat look, “Just because they happen to have billions of dollars on their bank accounts doesn’t really make them any easier to stand. And they’re still a billion years too old.”

“Oh, I wasn’t talking about the _old_ billionaires.” Phichit clarified with a wink. “I was talking about the young, handsome billionaires. _Unmarried_ , young and handsome billionaires who wouldn’t say no to a young, pretty spouse.”

Yuuri frowned, turning his head to look at Phichit, who looked awfully lot as if he was planning something. Something mischievous.

“What are you blabbering about?” he asked carefully.

“Well, you do have crippling stage fright.” Phichit reminded him, which he really didn’t need to do because Yuuri was _highly_ aware of that. “You’re an amazing performer, but I know you, and we’ve talked about it a lot, and… I feel for you, you know? Every time you’re to enter the stage, I feel you, and I see what it does to you.”

“Phichit, what-?”

“Now, don’t get me wrong for even half a second, Yuuri.” He continued, ignoring Yuuri’s attempt to ask where he was going with all of it. “I would hate to lose you, we would all hate to lose you, and Lilia would probably strangle me with her bare hands if she knew I was about to plant ideas into your head. You’re my best friend, and quitting isn’t something I would want to encourage you to do, but it pains me even more to see you nauseous and dizzy time and time again, and you break down afterwards regardless of the fact that you’ve done a brilliant job.”

Yuuri was slowly, very slowly, putting two and two together, and he was about to panic. Or scream. Or both.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m _very_ serious when I say that you should put those dangerous charms of yours to good use and wrap a young, handsome billionaire around your finger.” Phichit replied easily, causing Yuuri to choke on his humble intake of breath. “Get together, get engaged and marry them. No financial worries for the rest of your life. What better way to leave the stage, when that’s just about the one place you obviously don’t want to be? Even if you were absolutely _made_ to be there, and telling you all of this kind of breaks my heart?”

Yuuri stared at the ceiling.

Redwood. It probably was redwood. Polished and expensive.

Right. Stage fright. Billionaires.

He would hate to leave the band. He would hate to tell Madam Lilia that she would have to find a new vocalist, as she had always been good to him, even though she could be downright terrifying at times. Most of all, he would hate to leave Phichit. Then again, Phichit was Phichit, and he would always find a way to see Yuuri anyway, no matter where in the world they happened to be.

More than any of that, though, he hated the stage. The nausea, the grabby hands, the idiots who dared approach afterwards to ask for favors because “they were lonely” or “their wife was so far away” (Madam Lilia was usually quick to give them a scolding that had them running away with their tails between their legs).

Yuuri was twenty-six, looked like twenty according to the media, and he had been in the industry for ten or so years. Ten or so years of nausea, tears and rattling nerves.

Having Phichit telling him there might have been a way out…

On another day, on a worse day, Yuuri might have thought Phichit was trying to get rid of him, as there were days when Yuuri was convinced he was nothing but a burden to anyone and everyone, and locked himself away from everything so no one would be bothered by his presence. During those days, Phichit usually found him, comforted him, then scolded him for being stupid.

It wasn’t one of those days today.

In fact, it was a rather good day, because they would be spending the entirety of it on the train from Chicago to Miami, and they would sleep there through the night as well, meaning their following performance felt further away than it actually was. And since it _was_ a rather good day, Yuuri was strangely unbothered by the fact that Phichit suggested he leave the stage.

He _wanted_ to leave the stage. He had never wanted to step onto it to begin with, but money only existed in Yuuri’s vocabulary back then, and all he had was an androgynous voice and an androgynous body. Lilia had found him singing in a street corner and taken him beneath her wing, taught him how to dance, and soon enough, Yuuri had become her star performer.

Lilia _knew_ how much he hated it. She never questioned it because Yuuri didn’t wish to speak about it, hut she always kept an eye on him, as if she was afraid he would break in half.

Leaving the stage and being financially secure for the rest of his life hence sounded… all too tempting, Yuuri realized, much to his own amazement.

But…

“There aren’t many young billionaires around, you know.” Yuuri pointed out, turning his head to look at his tanned friend again. “Depending on how you define ‘young’, of course. Since most of them are around seventy, I suppose that I shouldn’t be complaining if I found one in their fifties.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Phichit said, wagging a finger at him again. “There _are_ young billionaires, and I mean people around thirty. Viktor Nikiforov, for one.”

Yuuri ignored the blush spreading on his cheeks, “What business would Viktor Nikiforov have in Miami?”

“Escaping the cold of New York in the winter?” Phichit suggested, his smile smug and not subtly so, “Just like we’re escaping Chicago for warmer climates. You really can’t deny that Nikiforov is young, handsome, and most certainly a billionaire. Actually, most certainly all of those things. Also unmarried and no prospects in sight. He can’t be the only one, either. Besides…” the smile turned into a devious grin, “…you do know, right?”

Knew what? What should he know about?

Yuuri stared at his friend, attempting to piece together what he was trying to say, and… and…

… _oh_.

“Nikiforov… owns Miami-Biltmore?”

“Bingo!” Phichit grinned, handing Yuuri the magazine he had been holding onto the entire time, “He bought it just last month.”

Yuuri blinked down at the magazine, where it did state on the front cover that Viktor Nikiforov, at the age of 30, had bought a bunch of hotels all over the States, including the luxurious Miami-Biltmore, placing him on the top of the charts when it came to running a hospitality business in North America and the world.

“It was actually this that got me thinking.” Phichit admitted, gesturing to the magazine. “Maybe you should at least consider it.”

Yuuri really hated himself for considering it.

He hated himself even more for dreaming about Viktor Nikiforov’s stupidly handsome face (that he had only ever seen on black-and-white pictures) offering him a smile.

Offering him a way out from a place Yuuri had never wanted to enter in the first place.

 

**

 

Needlessly fixing the cuffs of his wine-red three-piece suit, Viktor Nikiforov thanked the waitress kindly as she placed a pineapple fruit punch in front of him. It was still prohibited to sell, manufacture and transport alcohol in Florida, whereas the ban had been repealed in New York a few years back, and Viktor could very well endure a pineapple fruit punch or two knowing that he could down a shot or five of vodka on his private yacht afterwards.

Being a highly successful and even more careful businessman, Viktor was acutely aware of the media’s interest in him (there weren’t that many billionaires younger than fifty), and he meticulously saw to it that his public image remained picture perfect. Which also included him drinking pineapple fruit punch and not bringing a pocket flask of vodka.

The love of the Russian spirit had been inherited from his parent, for sure.

Finally returning to the Cuban cigar that had been patiently resting waiting in his hand, Viktor brought it to his lips and lit it, checking the time on his golden Dunhill lighter (which happened to be fitted with a watch, of course) and leaned back in his chair. He inhaled the sweet tobacco slowly, exhaling with a barely audible sigh.

Escaping the freezing cold of New York and coming to Miami had been a good decision, Viktor thought. Buying the luxurious Miami-Biltmore hotel had been an even better one, if the amount of guests crowding into the lounge for the evening’s entertainment was any indication.

Viktor sighed in an exhale of smoke.

He had been in Miami for a week, and while the performances he had almost dutifully attended every evening had been entertaining, they hadn’t been… exciting. Then again, there was terrifyingly little that excited Viktor these days, so it might have been him that was boring.

On the program for the evening was some jazz ensemble from Chicago, supposedly also escaping the cold of winter, and perhaps the insecurity of the gangsters ruling the city from beneath the ground. Viktor involuntarily shuddered at the thought, inhaling some more filtered air.

“Relax, mon ami.” His good friend and successful fashion brand owner Christophe Giacometti smiled, elegantly sitting down on the chair reserved for him by the table in the VIP-area with a bright, pink drink in one hand and a cigarette on a long cigarette holder in the other. “You look like you’re thinking too much. Help me out?”

Viktor produced his lighter and did as asked without commenting on the observation.

“The entertainment has been mildly interesting at best thus far.” He said instead, crossing his legs and eyeing the empty stage critically. “I have to admit I had higher hopes for this place when I bought it.”

“Well, it’s yours now.” Chris reminded him, sending a wink to a man that was ogling him from a few tables away, always ready to tease. “Surely you have some say in that. I have to point out, though, that I believe you’re being a bit harsh; none of the performers have been bad, and the standard has been high. You’re just hard to please.”

Viktor frowned slightly, “I suppose I am.” He relented, allowing Chris to be the voice of reason. Which he often was when Viktor was in an irritable mood.

Chris hummed, smile turning suggestive, “Rumor has it, you know, that Madam Lilia’s Society Syncopators are excellent. Apparently because of their vocalist.”

Inhaling some more expensive leaves, Viktor hummed, humoring him, “Is that so?”

“Oh, yes.” Chris replied, and Viktor could hear the smirk even though he wasn’t looking directly at him, eyes still fixed on the stage. “He has a reputation for being… dangerous.”

“Sounds intriguing.” Viktor admitted, finally turning his head to glance at him. “How do you know all this?”

“I asked around.” Was the nonchalant response.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” greeted the stage manager as the lights in the room dimmed, and Viktor found himself sighing again without meaning to (Chris looked almost offended), “Tonight, it is my pleasure to introduce you to a group of talented musicians, hailing all the way from Chicago, Michigan. Please welcome,” he gestured to the side, a wide grin on his face, “Madam Lilia and Her Society Syncopators!”

A tall woman with the most prominent posture and the tightest hair bun Viktor had ever seen entered the stage. Adorned in a golden dress, pearls dangling from her ears and decorating her neck and wrists, she carried herself with a confidence Viktor could probably never hope to match. A group of musicians, mostly men and a couple of women, all dressed in glittering black and gold, entered the stage in her wake, and only when the drummer had sat down and gotten started on a soft jazz beat did she speak.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she greeted in turn, not smiling but demanding attention, which Viktor had to admit he found fascinating, “I am Madam Lilia, and these are my Society Syncopators.” The double-bass started to play along with the drums. “We have come far from Chicago to entertain you tonight, featuring our vocalist, the star of the evening,” there was something akin to an amused glint in her eyes when she stretched out an elegant arm towards the side of the stage, “Eros!”

Viktor was glad that the brass and woodwinds had joined the drums and the double-bass loudly enough to cover up his cough when he choked on smoke and surprise. The noise didn’t escape Chris’ notice though, who looked exceedingly pleased with the reaction, but Viktor had less than no time to send him a glare for the trouble.

“ _Oooh, it’s wicked._ ”

Man or woman?

Chris had said _he_ , hadn’t he?

Well, if it weren’t for the lack of a more… prominent bosom, Viktor could have been easily fooled.

“ _Oooh, it’s windy_.”

Eros.

Eros was all of Viktor’s sweetest dreams personified.

Viktor had, after all, always considered himself to be a man of excellent taste, and with an excellent taste in men.nd Eros just so happened to be a man that happened to look delicious enough to eat.

His dress was black and _tight_ , showing off silky skin upper arms and graceful legs, and curves that looked ever so slightly feminine in the fitted clothing. Charcoal black locks were pulled back into a small, elegant bun, and he was adorned in golden and pearl jewelry, neat bracelets starkly contrasting the long, black silk gloves.

“ _Don’cha love to live in Chicago? Where life is always wicked, windy and wild_.”

Viktor would move to Chicago in a heartbeat if Eros asked him to. Even quicker if he did it with that smoldering gaze he was enthralling the audience with, seductively batting long lashes.

“ _How the stars can spin, from that bathtub gin, kicks you can’t get in Old St. Lou or Kansas City_.”

He was wearing heels, Viktor noted dazedly. High heels. And he was moving about the stage as if he _owned_ it.

Viktor did own it, didn’t he? Or, not any longer, because Eros had definitely taken over it. Not that he was complaining.

“ _When you meet someone in Chicago,_ ” the smirk and the wink Eros sent the audience was doing all kinds of things to him, “ _make sure your heart can stand the trills and the spills._ ”

Viktor was absolutely certain he _wouldn’t_ be able to, but noted it duly anyway.

And then, suddenly, Eros turned his head, his sultry gaze landing directly on Viktor. A smirk. An outstretched hand, singing just for Viktor, whose heart had jumped straight up into his mouth.

“ _Mister, hold on tight…_ ”

Not a chance. Not when his dress pants were too tight and he was right on the verge of losing his sanity.

“ _…we won’t say good night…_ ”

Perfect. Viktor had plenty of other ideas. Most of them involving Eros, himself, and his private yacht.

“ _…till we’ve torn up Chicaaa---gooo---_ ”

Tearing Eros’ dress right off him was a terribly appealing thought. Viktor would gladly adorn him in a new one later.

“ _It’s always wicked, windy and wild,_ ” Eros pulled out the golden pin that was holding his bun in place, allowing his shoulder-length hair to unravel in scandalously enthralling waves, “ _see the way my hair is styled_ ,” he threw his head back, bending his knees to lower himself a little, “ _oh, momma, you lost your lovin’ child in Chicago._ ”

What would Viktor’s mother have thought? If she had been alive, that was, which she hadn’t been for over a decade.

She would probably have frowned at him, asked him what he was doing just sitting there, scolded him for not having gone up onto the stage to bend the knee and ask the young man to marry him immediately. Something _she_ would probably have done as she had been an impulsive and straightforward woman, also having been the one to propose to Viktor’s father. Which was completely unheard of in the late 19 th century.

Viktor had loved his mother immensely.

With the very much entertaining show coming to a close, Eros blew kisses to the audience before turning on his heel and heading off the stage with a sinful sway of his hips. Viktor could have sworn that the wink Eros sent over his shoulder before disappearing behind the curtains had been aimed at him.

“They have a day off tomorrow before performing again.” Chris said casually, downing the last of his third drink for the evening. “You could try the beach.”

Oh, Viktor was going to try so much more than the beach if given the chance.

“What’s his real name?” he wondered.

Chris furrowed his brows at that, “Katsuki is his last name, I think. It’s your hotel, mon ami.”

A visit to the front desk later, and Viktor found out the name of the man of his dreams.

Yuuri. Yuuri Katsuki.

 

**

 

“Oh my god, what did I do?!”

“Wrapped him around your finger is what you did.” Phichit grinned triumphantly, laughing at the expense of Yuuri’s embarrassment. His ears were burning as he clutched the pocket flask of sherry in both hands. “He looked like he wanted to give you the stars and then ask you to step on him.”

“ _Phichit!_ ” Yuuri hissed, scandalized and mortified, tears beading at the corners of his eyes, “Don’t _say_ things like that! He saw my _stage persona_ , which is quite a long shot from _me_ , as myself. I can’t do this, I feel like I’m deceiving hi-“

“Stop right there, Yuuri.” Phichit cut him off, suddenly serious, wrapping an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “Drink.”

It was an order.

The sweet liquor burned Yuuri’s throat pleasantly and he sighed deeply, attempting to focus enough to listen to what his best friend had to say. Phichit waited patiently for Yuuri to turn his gaze approximately in his direction before speaking:

“First, you lure him in, like you did tonight.” He said all too casually, holding up a hand when Yuuri was about to protest. “Then, when you warm up to one another, you tell him everything. About your stage fright, about this little plan if you want. If he’s an imbecile about it, you slap him across the face and leave. If he’s not an imbecile, you absolutely do not slap him across the face. But you can let the cat out of the bag relatively early, can’t you?”

Right… sure.

Except Yuuri would never find it in himself to slap Viktor Nikiforov’s stupidly handsome face. Not even if he turned out to be an imbecile.

And for once, his resolve to leave the stage was stronger than his nerves, because it was actually within his reach and he wanted it _so badly_. Hence, there really was only one thing to do.

Seduce Viktor Nikiforov.

 

**

 

The navy-blue bathing suit was made to draw attention. The material was far tighter than on an average men’s bathing suit, made more for sports than for leisure, but it hugged his curves, and today, Yuuri needed to show off all his assets. He had even left his hair down.

Nausea was pooling forebodingly in his gut, but just like when he was about to enter the spotlight, he ignored it with all his might. He was going to have to perform without standing on a stage, or else he would never have the nerve to do what he had set out to do.

Steeling himself to the max, he took a deep breath, slinging the towel casually over his shoulder before walking down the stairs to the beach, subtly searching the area with his gaze. He found what, or _who_ , he was looking for instantly, sitting on a bench in close proximity to the drink stand, a boater hat placed atop gleaming silver hair to prevent the sun from giving him a headache. Viktor Nikiforov was reading a magazine and had his back turned to Yuuri, who was reaching the end of the staircase.

His heart fluttered in his chest as he gulped.

 _You can do this, Yuuri_ , he told himself as confidently as he could muster. _You can, and you will._

 

Viktor could have sworn he had only looked down for half a second, but when he discreetly lifted his gaze from the magazine again to scan the beach, his heart skipped a beat.

Finally.

Yuuri “Eros” Katsuki walked right past him with swaying hips, curves accentuated in the tight navy bathing suit, strong legs and thick thighs well on display. And very, uh, _shapely_ buttocks. Which he then proceeded to show off as he bent down to smooth out the towel over the sand.

Without bending his knees.

Viktor swallowed _hard_ , reaching for his drink on the table beside him, missing it and grabbing thin air instead, almost knocking the glass over. He didn’t even have time to hope no one had noticed his embarrassing fumbling, however, because Yuuri Katsuki suddenly stood up straight and glanced over his shoulder, gaze landing on Viktor. Catching him staring like a lunatic.

A slow, devastating smirk crept onto alluring lips while the heat on Viktor’s cheeks continued rising steadily.

“Enjoying the view, mister?”

 _Cough_. _Splutter!_

 _Yes, very much, thank you, you’re lovely_.

…hopefully he had said none of it out loud.

“Oh, um, uh…” Viktor’s vocabulary had become decidedly non-existent, so he cleared his throat in hope it would return while attempting to process the fact that Yuuri Katsuki had asked him a question while looking like a damned _feast_ he wanted to devour instantly, “…uh, yes! I do. The ocean, the, uh, sun and the, the…” _you_ , “…the sand. Deliciou-, I mean, stunning!”

…smooth, Nikiforov. He punched himself in the face internally.

“Really?” Yuuri Katsuki very much resembled a cat who got the cream, sauntering over to the bench where he sat down next to Viktor, feline and all kinds of dangerous in his graceful movements, “I take it you don’t, ah… regret investing in the Miami-Biltmore, then, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Yuuri Katsuki knew who he was.

Good.

Viktor was going to use anything and everything to his advantage.

“Up until last night, I did have a few doubts, to be honest.” He attempted more casually, placing the magazine to the side to fix his gaze on Yuuri. “But if the hotel attracts guests like you, Mr. Katsuki, then no; I have zero regrets in investing in this place and buying it all.”

Viktor was beyond delighted to find the most adorable dusting of pink settle on Yuuri Katsuki’s cheeks at the realization Viktor knew his real name. He got a full moment to revel in the success until the smirk was back on Yuuri’s lips and the singer leaned in a little closer, trailing a finger down Viktor’s arm.

“What a flatterer, Mr. Nikiforov,” he chided playfully, eyes glimmering with amusement, “I bet you have people swooning all over at your charms.” He tilted his head, burgundy eyes fixating on Viktor as if he could see right through him. “Do you do this often? Charm your guests in hope they will return?”

“Oh yes, _that_ , I do quite often.” Viktor smirked right back, taking Yuuri’s wandering hand in his own to bring it to his lips, placing a kiss to the back of it. “But I have never attempted to charm a guest in hope they will stay.”

To his joy and triumph, the light blossom on Yuuri’s cheeks turned into an endearing shade of rosy red.

“Fascinating.” He still replied, eyes twinkling. “Anything else you’ve never charmed a guest into doing?”

The day was much too warm and Viktor’s pants were much too tight to handle Yuuri Katsuki on an obvious mission to make him snap. Honestly, the singer would have succeeded very well regardless of the smoldering gaze and the sultry smile, pink lips begging to be kissed.

“W-well,” Viktor replied once he found his voice, hoping Yuuri didn’t hear the slight tremble in it, “I’ve never asked them to dine with me. Or asked them to make me company on my yacht.”

Yuuri’s eyes sparkled as his smirk stretched into a grin.

“Exciting.” He _purred_ , and Viktor experienced his soul leaving his body and ascending to Heaven. “Then, where and when do you…” he tilted his head again, long lashes fanning over silky skin, “…want me, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Oh sweet _Lord!_

“How-, how about tonight?” Viktor suggested, lowering his voice slightly, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt, “At seven. Dinner in my private booth at the hotel restaurant. And a glass of something on my yacht.”

Yuuri’s honey-dripping smile of sin was _doing_ things to him, and Viktor was far from complaining.

“How could I refuse such a generous offer?” he mused, trailing a finger along Viktor’s jawline to his chin, keeping him in place with no effort, “Seven sharp, then. And…” he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and slowly released it, five seconds away from causing Viktor heart failure, “… _how_ do you want me, Mr. Nikiforov?”

Viktor hoped Yuuri didn’t notice the way he squirmed slightly in his seat to adjust his pants, crossing his legs just in case. There was an innocently sweet smile adorning the singer’s illegally pretty face, and it was telling Viktor that he knew _precisely_ what he was doing.

“I…” oh, he wanted so _many_ things! But, maybe… “…I would be honored to spend time with you. With Yuuri Katsuki.”

Surprise flickered across Yuuri’s face briefly before his expression turned pleased. Exceedingly pleased.

“If I’m allowed to spend time with Viktor Nikiforov, then, we have an agreement.”

That was about as fair as it could get, wasn’t it?

Viktor agreed easily.

 

**

 

Yuuri fidgeted with the hem of the form-fitting jacket of his three-piece suit that Madam Lilia had gotten him years ago, surprised it still fit him as he straightened the already straight and impeccably ironed midnight blue material. He had pulled his hair back into a (hopefully) inconspicuous ponytail, and he had decided to keep his spectacles on.

To be frank, he had gone out of his way to look as nice as possible for Viktor Nikiforov. The man oozed charm and was made of Yuuri’s wet dreams (embarrassingly enough), and as he also seemed incredibly nice, Yuuri genuinely wanted to get to know him.

He would also have to confess to Viktor that all of it had started because he needed money in order to get off the stage. Preferably at some point during the evening.

Heart lodged in his throat, Yuuri headed to the hotel restaurant at seven sharp, finding Viktor Nikiforov already there in all his gorgeous self, waiting for Yuuri. A blush crept to his cheeks at the thought.

Right. Smile.

Focus.

It was downright scary how easily a smile stretched onto his face when Viktor spotted him, instantly mirroring it with one of his own. His mouth formed something akin to a heart when he did, Yuuri realized, and fell a little more. Like that piano plummeting from the top of a building.

_Focus!_

“My apologies, Mr. Nikiforov,” Yuuri spoke as he reached his company for the evening, “did I keep you waiting?”

Viktor chuckled, offering his arm, “Not at all, Mr. Katsuki. If you would allow me being forward, I would wish to tell you that you look very handsome tonight. The spectacles look good on you.”

Well, the goal had been to look nice, and luckily, Yuuri had (apparently) somehow managed to achieve that. The blush on his cheeks deepened.

“Thank you.” He replied, voice soft, “You look very handsome yourself, Mr. Nikiforov.”

“Please,” the billionaire smiled, leading Yuuri towards his private booth, “call me Viktor.”

“Viktor…” Yuuri said slowly, tasting the name, reveling in the satisfaction of seeing Viktor shudder pleasantly when he attempted to pull out a chair for Yuuri, “…then please, call me Yuuri.”

Viktor hummed as he sat down in front of him, “Yuuuuri,” he tried, and it was Yuuri’s turn to shudder as Viktor’s tongue caressed his name as if it was as delicious as the food they were about to have, “it’s a lovely name.” He tilted his head, silver fringe falling to the side to give Yuuri an unobscured view of his stunningly blue eyes. “So, Yuuri, jazz vocalist and drag queen extraordinaire – how did that happen?”

To Yuuri’s delight, relief and concern (for his poor heart), Viktor turned out to be heartwarmingly attentive. It was bordering on too much for Yuuri to take, but with food in his system and a lit cigarette in his long cigarette holder, his nerves loosened enough for him to allow himself to enjoy Viktor’s company.

It was clear that the billionaire was interested in him, leaning towards him over the table, eyes sparkling with excitement, asking open-ended questions and leaving a door for Yuuri to escape through in case he didn’t wish to answer them.

And he was fair, telling Yuuri about himself in turn.

“How did you end up in the hospitality business?” Yuuri asked him curiously at some point. Viktor chuckled good-naturedly.

“Through my parents. My father owned a few hotels in Russia, which he sold when he and my mother moved to the States, buying a hotel here instead and started expanding. My mother passed away twelve years ago, and my father fell ill a few years back, but he was around long enough to see to it I got proper education to take over the business.” His smile turned into a sheepish grin. “If he could see where it all has led me, though, I suspect he would rise from his grave to ask if I’ve gone mad.”

Still, it was with his heart pounding hard against his ribcage that Yuuri accepted Viktor’s arm afterwards and allowed himself to be led out of the hotel and down to the docks. Viktor was a perfect gentleman, helping Yuuri down into the fancy motorboat before jumping in himself, pointing towards one of the bigger yachts in the bay.

“The one over there, my _Stammi Vicino_.” He said softly, resting a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “If you wish to head back ashore at any time, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay? I’ll take you back here immediately.”

Yuuri believed him. He had been nothing but impeccably polite the entire evening, and besides, he had an image to uphold for the media.

And surely, Viktor wouldn’t want his spotless reputation blemished.

 

**

 

Viktor could scarcely believe his luck as he wrapped an arm around Yuuri’s waist to guide him further into the yacht. The singer had been stunning in drag, and delicious in a bathing suit, and in a three-piece and glasses, he was unfathomably handsome. Unable to decide which of the ensembles he liked more, Viktor came to the resolve that he liked every side of Yuuri he had gotten a glimpse of so far.

Stepping into the lounge, a large yet cozy space hosting (among other things) a rounded, soft couch that Viktor favored, he gestured towards the bottles lined up by the bar.

“Something to drink?” he asked. Yuuri eyed the assortment, humming slightly.

“Something… sparkling would be nice.” He replied tentatively, and Viktor grinned.

“Well, I do hope I’ll find something to your satisfaction. Any preferences?”

Yuri’s eyes twinkled as he tilted his head up slightly to meet Viktor’s gaze.

“French.” He murmured, licking his lips.

Viktor prayed the gulp wasn’t audible. What he was about to do was very, very stupid, and he really shouldn’t give his secret away, but…

…it was Yuuri. And apparently, it was _very hard_ to say no to Yuuri.

So, he smirked, nodding, “Of course.” Yuuri’s mouth quirking up into a matching smirk was well worth it.

Deciding to push his luck a little more, Viktor let go off Yuuri’s waist to pull off his own suit jacket, making a show of removing his cufflinks and rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, reveling in the sensation of having Yuuri watching his every move, watching him uncover skin inch by inch. Smirk widening slightly, he then placed his hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, “May I?”

The response was a sultry smile and a heated gaze as Yuuri turned his back to Viktor so he could peel off his suit jacket in turn. While Yuuri didn’t roll up his sleeves, he did loosen his tie and unbutton the first few buttons of his crisp, white dress shirt. Viktor then had to busy himself with the requested champagne bottle, or they would never get as far as to actually having any at all, he suspected.

“Bollinger.” He informed Yuuri as he handed him a glass, linking their arms. “To love.”

The blush that bloomed on Yuuri’s cheeks was all sorts of delightful.

“To life.” He replied.

After a sip and a content sigh, Yuuri turned to walk around and have a more proper look at the lounge, taking the luxury he was surrounded by. It pleased Viktor greatly, seeing Yuuri somehow making the space _his_ , as if he had always belonged there.

He very much wanted for Yuuri to _want_ to belong there.

“Well, Viktor…” he suddenly said, snapping Viktor out of his musings as he glanced at him over his shoulder, “…I have but one question, really.”

Unable to resist the siren’s call, Viktor walked up to him to wrap an arm around his waist, placing his own champagne glass to Yuuri’s lips for him to have a sip. An indirect kiss, and not in any way a subtle one.

“What is it you wonder, Yuuri?”

Swallowing the offered bubble, Yuuri pulled his bottom lip between his teeth again, gaze hooded. Viktor’s heart wasn’t going to survive their interaction, he realized.

“I wonder…” Yuuri murmured, trailing a finger along Viktor’s arm, “… _what do you give to a man who’s had everything?_ ”

Viktor’s stomach did a spectacular flip as Yuuri suddenly started singing, a seamless transition from talking, as if it were a second language he could easily blend in with his native tongue. His voice was soft and, just like Viktor had wondered about the previous evening, seemed to work just as well in a more baritone register as in the more feminine mezzosoprano he had adapted as Eros. Without falsetto.

It was breathtaking.

“ _Man who’s had everything,_ ” Yuuri took a sip of champagne, shaking his head slowly even as he smirked, “ _what a complication_.”

Viktor would have begged to differ, because, sure, he had had a lot, and seen a lot, and he certainly had a lot of numbers on his bank account, but he really felt that none of it mattered when Yuuri existed.

And Yuuri, of course, happened to be a downright minx.

“ _Where do you go with a man who’s been everywhere?_ ” Yuuri wondered, slipping out of Viktor’s hold to walk around him, trailing a hand along his back to his chest, stopping in front of him again, “ _Been there and back, seeking new sensation._ ”

Had Viktor not been tongue-tied due to the fact that his mouth had gone dry (and because he absolutely did not want Yuuri to stop singing), he would have argued that he hadn’t even _known_ what sensation was until the night before.

“ _What’s a surprise, when blue eyes have seen everything?_ ” Yuuri turned on his heel and walked over to the rounded, cream-colored couch, hips swaying, “ _Sights that most people have not._ ” He sat down elegantly, glass of champagne resting delicately in his hand, crossing his legs and fixating Viktor with a contemplative look.

“ _What do you give to a man who’s had everything, been everywhere, seen everything, tried Heaven knows what_ …”

“Would you give it a shot?” Viktor managed to croak out without choking on his breathing, only to realize he had (almost) managed to make it rhyme. Yuuri looked terribly pleased, the smile playing on his lips downright devious as he sipped his champagne and hummed.

“ _Been all around, and covered ground all others have missed._ ” Well, Viktor did hope to uncover some more uncharted ground tonight, to be honest. “ _What do you give to a man who’s had everything,_ ” Yuuri tilted his head, lips puckering into a tiny pout, “ _where in the world’s a new twist?_ ”

Viktor needed a moment to find composure before locating his voice (which appeared to have ran to hide beneath the couch and was slowly crawling back out).

“I do have a few ideas.” He admitted when his tongue started working again, walking over to the couch to sit next to Yuuri, stretching not at all subtly to place an arm around his shoulders and pull him closer. “More than a few, actually.”

Yuuri smiled, but there was a hint of… something in his eyes that had Viktor do a double take.

Was it…

…worry? Had he done something wrong?

“You’re troubled.” He murmured, testing the waters carefully. “What is it, Yuuri?”

Yuuri frowned, then, casting his gaze down and shifting slightly in his seat.

“I… I need to tell you something.” He whispered, suddenly shy.

Viktor’s heart briefly came to a halt in his chest.

He was going to be rejected, wasn’t he? Surely, Yuuri must have already had a lover, being as enthralling as he was?

He shook himself internally. No, he couldn’t jump to conclusions like that, just like he couldn’t simply assume things when doing business. The situation had to be assessed further, and that meant coaxing Yuuri to talk. Hence, he gave Yuuri’s shoulder a tentative squeeze, hoping for it to be reassuring.

“I’m all ears.” He promised, even when all he could hear was the blood thrumming against his eardrums.

Hesitant, burgundy eyes carefully looked up at him as Yuuri cradled his champagne glass with both hands. Slowly, he brought it to his lips and downed every last drop in one go, his expression of worry giving way to one of determination.

“…I have enormous stage-fright.”

It was a hushed whisper. A secret.

And Viktor was absolutely certain he had heard wrong.

However, he didn’t get to ask “what?” before Yuuri took a deep breath and continued:

“It’s stupid. I know.” He fidgeted with the glass, keeping his gaze downcast. “It… it doesn’t look like I do, does it? But I do, and I’m terrified every time I’m expected to enter the stage. I’m nauseous and dizzy, and afterwards I’m mostly a bundle of nerved trying to remember how to walk and breathe.” As if to emphasize the last part, he drew a shaky breath, silvery tears that had been beading in the corners of his eyes spilling down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I… I’m very different off the stage than on it. I’m sorry.”

Viktor was often accused, primarily by Chris, for being dimwitted when it came to interacting with people who showed emotion. And Yuuri was wearing his heart on his sleeve, which somehow made his words hard for Viktor to comprehend.

Especially the last part, because he simply couldn’t fathom…

“Why are you sorry, Yuuri?” he wondered softly, making sure his voice stayed calm and kind as it looked like Yuuri was about to shatter to pieces and it made his heart tremble dangerously in his chest. Yuuri’s gaze snapped up, giving him an incredulous look.

“Because, you… you know…” he frowned, looking terribly displeased with himself, “…because I… I had to put on a performance to have the courage to approach you, because I didn’t know how else to do it without reducing myself to a nervous wreck. And the only thing I could think of was getting into the mind-set of my stage persona, I…” he hiccoughed.

“…I feel like I’ve deceived you, but I didn’t know what else to do, and…” he faltered, hanging his head as more tears spilt down his cheeks, “…dear lord, I have so much to apologize for.” _Sniffle_. “You’re so kind and nice and I really, really like you but… but I’m not… I’m not Eros, you know. Off the stage. I’m no one. If I leave the stage, the band, I’ve got nothing.” He finally looked Viktor in the eye, tears sticking to his lashes as he blinked up at him, guilt heavy in his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Viktor had to take a moment to fit the puzzle pieces together.

Yuuri wanted to get close to him, but had been too nervous to approach without adapting his Eros-persona off-stage. Yuuri had stage fright, and if Viktor hadn’t understood him completely wrong, he wished to get away from it. But he couldn’t, because he had no money.

Which Viktor just so happened to have.

But… he had seen so many sides of Yuuri in the span of less than a day and a half. He had seen Eros on the stage, had seen Yuuri adapting Eros to charm Viktor, had seen Yuuri slowly relaxing due to food and tobacco, seen him blush and…

And he had liked all of it. Loved all of it. Every part, every side, every smile.

Question was, how to convey it all to Yuuri? Viktor had to try, and he _had_ to succeed.

“Yuuri,” he started, still trying to put words together in a sense-making way as he coaxed the empty champagne glass from Yuuri’s hands and placed both that and his own on the table, “are you apologizing because you thought I would be offended that you approached me in hope to leave the stage?”

Yuuri flinched, and Viktor winced internally. He surely could have worded the question in a better way, but the reaction still answered it well enough. He carefully reached for Yuuri’s hands, taking them in his own.

“Don’t apologize.” He smiled, coaxing Yuuri to lift his gaze to look at him. “Sure, I was enchanted by you last night, and I did come to the beach today in hope to find you there. If you hadn’t approached me, I would have approached you instead.” Yuuri’s eyes widened at that, and Viktor let out an internal sigh of relief.

“And now, having dined with you, spent this lovely evening with you, you have continued to enchant me, again and again. You might have seduced me with Eros, but then I found Yuuri who blushes beautifully at compliments, who shyly averts his gaze when shown affection, who leans into my touch, and who during the entire evening has shown he’s interested in _me_. In Viktor, not in Nikiforov the billionaire.”

“…even if the money was the thing that started all of this.” Yuuri murmured guiltily.

“In that case, I’ve never been happier to have money in my life.” Viktor assured him, cupping his cheek, wiping away a drying, stray tear. “I’m happy you’re being honest with me, Yuuri, but none of what you’ve said changes the fact that I adore you. I’m a bit curious as to how all this started, though.”

Yuuri swallowed, but his cheeks had regained some color. He nodded.

“On the train to Miami. My best friend suggested that I seduce a young billionaire so I could leave the stage before it kills me.” Viktor could almost see a physical weight lifting off Yuuri’s shoulders as he admitted it.

“And honestly, I didn’t think there would be anyone like that here beneath fifty.” Viktor laughed at that and Yuuri’s lips _thankfully_ quirked up into a barely-there smile. “But then I saw you yesterday, and…” he blushed up to his ears, “…I… remembered the conversation on the train somewhere in the back of my head, and then I kind of forgot about the money when you kept looking at me like… like you did.” It was Viktor’s turn to blush as Yuuri’s smile widened marginally.

“Sure, I recognized you, and I knew you were rich, but you were… you were also devastatingly handsome and definitely less than fifty, and I couldn’t resist.” He licked his lips, still clearly nervous, but his resolve seemed to be hardening,

“I…I liked it when you looked at me.” He confessed, blush spreading up to his ears. “It felt _good_. Standing on the stage has never felt good before, but I pretended no one else was there and focused on you, and it might have been the best I’ve ever been on stage.” He frowned again. “I did break down afterwards though, and I still want to leave the stage. It makes me sick.”

Viktor hummed, feeling privileged and pleased that Yuuri found him attractive enough to go out of his way to approach him… and that he wanted Viktor to look at him always.

He would have no problem complying with _that_.

“Then, how about this…” he began slowly, tilting Yuuri’s head up just a little more to look at him properly, leaning in just a little closer, pulled in like a moth to a flame, “…I will be at every performance you have here this week, and I will look only at you, because truth be told, I’d rather not look anywhere else anyway. The days you aren’t working, we spend together. Here, at the hotel, someplace else, whatever you want. Then, if you decide I am what you’re looking for, then I leave the stage and allow me to take care of you.”

“And if _you_ decide _I’m_ not what you’re looking for?” Yuuri wondered quietly.

Viktor had to laugh at that.

“Believe me, Yuuri…” he murmured, ghosting his lips over his before leaning in to press them together in a soft, lingering kiss, “…I didn’t even know I was looking for life and love until last night. And I’m certain no one can fill those neglected aspects of my life but you.”

Yuuri’s eyes had regained their sparkle with vigor, and Viktor’s heart soared. There was a dusting of rosy red over his tear-streaked cheeks, and the smile that spread out onto his lips had to objectively be the most beautiful thing in the known universe.

“Kiss me again?” he whispered, breath fanning over Viktor’s lips.

He really didn’t have to ask.

 

**

 

“I’m sorry, Lilia.”

“You shouldn’t be, Yuuri.” Lilia replied, stern as usual as she placed a hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “I will not deny I’m sad to see you leave, but I understand. The stage loves you, and that love is not reciprocated; there’s very little to be done about that. I have but one request.”

Yuuri blinked, “Yes?”

“Take care of yourself.”

 

“Can I get started on my best man-speech now?”

“If it pleases you.” Yuuri humored his best friend even as he blushed, hugging Phichit tightly. “I’ll miss you.”

“Don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily.” Phichit grinned, cupping his hand over Yuuri’s ear to theatrically whisper: “I might have had some… escapades of my own while you were busy, ah, _accompanying_ Mr. Hot Pants on his yacht.”

The heat on his cheeks rose further, but Yuuri still found it in him to cock an eyebrow in question, a grin spreading on his face.

“What have you done?”

“Oh, not much. Just chatted up his best friend.” Phichit said nonchalantly, giving him a wink. “You’ll find me in New York soon enough, according to one Mr. Giacometti.”

New York.

That was where Yuuri would find himself soon enough, according to one Viktor Nikiforov.

…after they had spent the rest of winter in the Miami sun, that was.

 

**

 

_Five years later…_

 

“ _Do you think I merely wish to toy with you?_ ”

“Viktor, what…?”

“ _Do you? When I have sought you near and far?_ ”

“What do you m-“

“ _If you cannot believe my boundless joy with you, you underestimate the man you are_.”

“…I just went to the mall with Phichit…”

“ _Some people in this world have bits of that and this, daisies for two eyes, butterflies for lips_.”

“I don’t know anyone with yellow eyes…”

“ _But I’ve met an angel who is lovely from the inside out, and beautiful through and through._ ”

“What’s going on, Vitya?” Yuuri wondered, more amused by the second, not protesting when his ridiculously adorable husband pulled him into his arms and into a dance that didn’t fit the song very well (or at all), but it was highly endearing, and Yuuri was slowly melting on the inside.

However, he was terribly curious as to what it was all about, as Viktor only ever sung when he felt like Yuuri had ignored him for too long. Which really sometimes was about something so simple as Yuuri reading a book and not kissing his husband. Those days were Viktor’s bad ones, when the world was too much and he needed a break, so during those days, Yuuri generally abandoned his book in favor of cuddling his husband instead.

But as far as Yuuri knew, it wasn’t one of those days (because Viktor had been cheerful since morning), and Viktor had also known that Yuuri would be going to the mall with Phichit and had had plenty of time to process it and mentally prepare himself.

It wasn’t like they were used to being apart at times, either.

Still, Viktor was singing, and Yuuri was slightly worried and more than curious as to why.

“ _Crash! Swept off my feet by love I can’t suppress; could you be unaware of treasures you possess?_ ” Yuuri squeaked, then giggled as Viktor suddenly grabbed him by the waist to hoist him up and spin him around, “ _An angel who is lovely from the inside out, and beautiful through and through_.”

Well, all right. Yuuri hoped he had gotten hang of the melody at least a little when he saw that little tilt of Viktor’s head, asking him to join in. So, he tried:

“ _Somewhere in the soul are passions that astound, suddenly love’s poems are vibrant and profound…_ ”

Viktor’s grin widened in delight, and Yuuri’s heart fluttered, “ _…and miracles can come true_.”

“ _You dance the rooftops of the world, and have to confess…_ ”

“ _…I love you_.”

Yuuri grinned right back as he was slowly brought down into a kiss before finally being placed back down onto his feet.

“I love you, too.” He assured Viktor, pecking his lips. “What brought this on?”

“Missed you.” Viktor sighed, still smiling, content to pull Yuuri into his arms. “So much. I know it was only a few hours, but I suddenly missed you so much. Don’t know why, I just did.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri murmured, not actually an apology but more of an understanding. There were times when Viktor had to go further away for business when Yuuri thought he would go mad with longing, but somehow, they pulled through. Besides, most of the time, Yuuri could just accompany Viktor on his trips anyway, “how can I make it up to you?”

There was a devious gleam in Viktor’s eyes as he leaned in to press his lips against his in a heated kiss that had Yuuri gasping. Being a skilled investor both on the stock-market and in his private life, Viktor immediately took advantage of his parted lips to deepen the contact, a hand sliding up from Yuuri’s waist to undo the ponytail and entangle into his dark locks. Yuuri had to arch his back as he was pulled impossibly closer, feeling much like Viktor was intent on having him for dinner.

They had to part for air eventually, gasping for breath, cheeks flushed as Viktor relentlessly continued his pursuit of devouring his husband by mouthing at his neck.

“Put on that dress I bought you and wear it to dinner tonight?”

God, he loved Viktor so much.

The stage hadn’t been remotely close to his mind for five years, and Viktor seemed determined to keep his promise Yuuri would never have to step onto it again.

That didn’t mean he minded giving his husband a show once in a while. Or every other day.

“Mm-kay, _ah!_ ” Yuuri gasped as his earlobe got a playful nibble, “Just to give you the satisfaction of taking it off me later?”

Viktor’s grin was all manners of devious.

“Exactly.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is 100% self-indulgent nostalgia of that summer I spent as a singer/dancer for the musical Sugar (based on Some Like It Hot), leaving out the gangsters in favor of bringing in Yuuri's nerves.
> 
> ...I spent way too much time staring at this going "what in the world did I just write?", but you might as well have it anyway.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> And the part I almost forgot to copy-paste in here from my notes!  
> Yuuri is singing "When You Meet a Man in Chicago" and "What Do You Give To a Man Who's Had Everything?", Viktor is singing "Beautiful Through and Through". All from Sugar, lyrics by Bob Merill.


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